


Poor Circulation (except where it counts!)

by gaypasta



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Stanley Uris, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Fix-It fic but With Porn, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Richie Tozier, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 15:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaypasta/pseuds/gaypasta
Summary: “I have work…” Stan sighed. His words may having been indicating he wanted Richie to stop, but he was rubbing himself against Richie slowly, feeling Richie’s cock heavy on his ass and his skin flush with goosebumps from Richie sucking on his neck. Stan let out a soft groan when Richie rolled his earlobe between his teeth and spoke lowly.“When’s the last time we fucked?” Stan didn’t reply. “Two weeks? Three?” Richie tightened his grasp on Stan’s waist and rocked him back onto his slow grinds in time with his own movements. Stan pretended he didn’t whimper.Step 1: Wake up your boyfriend at 3amStep 2: Make him mad about itStep 3: ????Step 4: Profit.





	Poor Circulation (except where it counts!)

Stan and Richie hadn’t been living together for long. A couple of months, give or take. Stan made a steady enough income with his internship at a fairly prestigious accounting firm in West Chicago. Sure, the job offer (a  _ real _ offer, not just an internship) he had gotten from the firm in Atlanta, Georgia had been a lot heavier. An extra naught on the end of his paycheck but Richie was in Chicago and he was  _ so sure _ that his next big break was coming. The entertainment industry was ruthless and Stan wondered how Richie could go to comedy clubs and tell jokes and make laughs when it had all been shadowed with shouts of frustration and many late nights at his laptop, looking for gig after gig and getting turned down for each and every one.

Stan worked long hours and Richie worked part-time at a store a few blocks from their apartment. He hated it and the manager hated him too but between them, they paid the bills. Barely. Money was tight and by the time Friday rolled around they usually were pulling dimes and quarters out of their pockets to gather enough for dish soap, or milk, or toilet paper, or whatever groceries they suddenly and urgently needed. Richie had taken to sneaking into the bar at the end of the street and clearing out their toilet paper. No security camera, no crimes. Their apartment was...lacking to say the least. Despite the two being some years out of college - Stan had just celebrated his twenty-second birthday - the apartment looked like the poor excuse of accommodation they had lived with only worse; the accommodation in College came with furniture. They had the bare minimum, picked up second hand off of Craigslist or generous donations from their friends; after Ben and Beverly had moved in together Beverly had given them her bedframe, Stan had almost cried in joy at not having to sleep on a mattress on the floor any longer, (it had been three days). 

It hadn’t mattered, though. Being broke and counting pennies and having to work themselves flat to be able to afford at least one proper meal a day had been stressful, yes but it hadn’t mattered one bit because they were doing it together. Stan would make Richie coffee in the morning and they would sit on their shitty floral-patterned sofa and eat their sad, flavorless oatmeal. Richie would scroll through his phone, looking for gigs and Stan would do the crosswords from yesterday’s paper that their apartment-neighbor would leave on their doorstep every morning in exchange for Stan pushing all the fast-food vouchers they got delivered to their door to the neighbor’s door and under the crack. It was a good system. Richie would use too much shampoo in the shower and Stan would berate him from the bathroom sink as he brushed his teeth. Stan would bring home a spare donut or pastry from the staff room in a little brown paper bag and toe off his shoes at the door and make Richie a coffee and deliver them with a kiss to his temple. Richie would cook dinner and burn it and they’d laugh at the blackness of the chicken and eat it anyway. 

Despite the stress, the long hours and the financial burdens, Stan never looked back at Georgia. Never thought twice about it from the moment he turned the key to his apartment - no, _their_ apartment - and opened the door to be swamped by the mass of his boyfriend which only escalated to tickling and both of them somehow losing, he knew there was nothing that could make him happier than being where he was now.

Then Richie got his big break. 

Not really  _ big _ , per say. It wasn’t a Netflix special or a spot on SNL or anything. It was a spot on Downtown Radio. Not so much a music station or a news station as it was a weird and precarious mix of the two, with Richie running commentary on the songs and world happenings and his co-host usually falling into fits of laughter. It was steady. It was no more frantic searching for gigs because rent is due in four days, no more Richie begging to his shitty manager for  _ ‘just an extra ten hours this week, Don. I’ll even clean the fuckin’ toilets if you want, I’m beggin’ here man, don’t leave me on my knees like this’. _ From 10pm - 3am every night (with Mondays off) Richie was mocking the Top Charts and rambling on about life and doing bits in his silly voices to whoever was listening. Stan sometimes liked to switch to his radio app on his phone and listen to his boyfriend and his really terrible impressions of singers and all the tall tales he seems to string out of nowhere.

It was shitty hours but it gave Richie’s pay a bump for the  _ ‘unsociable hours’ _ . Over time their bank account started to fill out and look less anaemic and they were able to afford things like a dresser, a desk, coffee tables, dining chairs that matched and  _ ‘real fucking breakfast food. I’m never eating oatmeal again, Stanley. I’ll fucking die.’. _ Stan came home from work one day to Richie finishing off a bookshelf in their living room, carrying all of Stan’s books from the cardboard box shoved into the deep corner of their closet, and the books used as coasters and doorstops and all sorts from around the apartment and was in the middle of stacking them all up.

“I don’t know if you want them alphabetically or by subject. Not sure how Stephen Hawking would feel about  _ A Brief History of Time  _ sitting beside  _ Awesome Jokes for Teenage Boys, Volume VI. _ ” Richie barely had the words out of his mouth when Stan side-stepped around the empty IKEA boxes and tugged Richie in for a kiss. It was no longer an apartment. It was their home. With rugs and cushions on armchairs and curtains and a fruit bowl and decorative plants. It was their home and Stan could never quite shake that feeling of pride when their friends would come over and Eddie would pick up the candles they have lying around and sniff them (his favourite was Sea Salt), or when Beverly would fawn over whatever new shirts Stan was wearing, or when Ben would say to Beverly about getting houseplants of their own. 

Richie and Stan had started from the bottom and worked hard to make the apartment a home. And it was.

The only downside to the arrangement was Stan’s disrupted sleep schedule. See, before Richie had started working for Downtown Radio, Stan would shut his laptop no later than 11pm and all but drag him out of his chair and into bed. Richie may have sat on his phone and continued exactly where he had left off but what mattered was that he was in bed. Once Richie lay on a vaguely horizontal surface he was out of it in a matter of minutes. Stan would wake up at 7am and make Richie coffee and make them breakfast and get ready for work. It was a good system. Now, Stan went to sleep alone. Richie would leave for work and Stan would either watch some TV show that Richie didn’t really care for or read a book until he would drift off. Richie, despite how quiet he  _ tried _ to be, he was a great big bumbling mess of a man and Stan was jostled away by Richie half-falling on top of him in the bed as he tried to take off his jeans and stumbled over himself. 

Stan let out a groan when Richie figured well, he already woke Stan up, so what damage will turning the light on do? 

“Richie.” Stan pulled the duvet over his head and cursed at the sudden brightness. Richie managed to pull his jeans off of him and Stan, despite his grogginess, listened for the telltale sound of Richie pulling the dresser open to put them back where they belong. Richie did and Stan went back to complaining. “Turn the light off. I’m sleeping.” 

“Doesn’t sound like you’re sleeping,” Richie said. Stan could hear the sound of rustling clothes and he wondered if Richie was going to bother with pajamas tonight. Normally Richie wore an old t-shirt of some type and changed out of his boxer-briefs and into a pair of boxers. When Stan heard the sound of the dresser drawers being opened and shut again followed by the clicking of the light switch, Stan doubted that was the case.

“I  _ was _ sleeping until you came bumbling in like a fool.” 

Richie laughed a little at that. “A fool? That cuts deep, babe.”

As soon as Richie lifted the duvet enough to worm himself under it, Stan kicked him in the shin, “Don’t call me  _ babe.”  _

“Oh, so you’re like… mad-mad, huh?” Stan responded to this by putting his ice-cold feet on Richie’s thighs. Richie swore and swatted him away, “Stop it. You know your cold-ass feet freak me out. It’s like I’m dating Jack Frost.” 

Stan, despite his antics, was in fact tired. It was usually about 3.30am when Richie got home, and Stan had work in the morning, so he removed his feet from Richie and rolled over to get comfortable, rolling away from Richie. He was content enough to snuggle back under the blankets and let sleep wash over him. Richie wasn’t in the same boat. Richie - who usually fell asleep at the drop of a hat - was tossing and turning and making loud huffing noises from his nose every minute or so. Stan let him settle but after the seventeenth (yes, he counted) recalibration in under five minutes he snapped.

“Stop turning over, Richie! Go the fuck to sleep.” Stan didn’t appreciate Richie fumbling about and waking him up, nevermind tossing and turning and  _ keeping _ him up - he had to be up for work in less than four hours, for Christ’s sake. 

Richie let out an indignant huff and rolled towards Stan, “I can’t sleep.” 

“Hard to sleep when you’re turning over like a hog on a spit.” 

“Stanley! That wasn’t very kosher of you, mister.” 

“Sleep. Now.” Stan wasn’t feeding into it anymore. If Richie was going to keep him up any longer he could sleep on the couch. That’s what he gets for keeping Stan up so late. The threat was on the tip of his tongue when Richie let out another whine-type noise and slung his heavy arm over the small of Stan’s waist, the words on his tongue promptly died when Richie pulled him close, bringing Stan’s ass directly into his groin. 

Stan stilled. No matter how many times he and Richie had sex, there was always something so erotic and so  _ hot _ about feeling the hard swell of Richie’s cock pressed flush against his ass. It never failed to make Stan’s face prickle with red and make his stomach lurch and his mouth go dry.

“Richie…” Stan groaned, trying to push him away. It was late. It was late. He reminded himself how  _ late  _ it was even as Richie pushed further into him and left soft kisses on the nape of his neck. He broke out in goosebumps. Richie didn’t reply, he just continued leaving slow, breathy, opened-mouthed kisses over his neck and Stan had to force his body not to squirm. “I’m serious,” Stan said, hoping his breath didn’t sound as raspy as he thought it did. 

“If you want me to stop just tell me.” Richie said lowly. His voice was gravelly from talking on the radio for hours straight and the rumble of it against Stan’s ear made him involuntarily press his ass back into Richie’s length. Stan felt it throb when he did and he bit back a gasp at that.

Richie slowly brought his hands from Stan’s waist and slipped it under his pajama shirt. Stan bared his neck to Richie and arched into him, letting Richie leave wet kisses down his neck up the curve of his jawline.    
  
“Doesn’t sound like a no to me.” Richie sucked lightly at Stan’s neck - not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough for Stan to feel the blood rush to the surface, enough to make him keen and run a hand through Richie’s head, leveling it at the back of his skull and putting the smallest bit of pressure on it to tell him to keep going. 

  
“I have work…” Stan sighed. His words may having been indicating he wanted Richie to stop, but he was rubbing himself against Richie slowly, feeling Richie’s cock heavy on his ass and his skin flush with goosebumps from Richie sucking on his neck. Stan let out a soft groan when Richie rolled his earlobe between his teeth and spoke lowly.

“When’s the last time we had sex?” Stan didn’t reply. “Two weeks? Three?” Richie tightened his grasp on Stan’s waist and rocked him back onto his slow grinds in time with his own movements. Stan pretended he didn’t whimper.

“We’ve been… we’ve been busy. Our schedules don’t overlap...” 

“We have the evenings after you come home.” Stan went to speak but was cut short by a huge hitch of breath when Richie began rolling one of his nipples between his fingers. “And don’t even pull the  _ ‘but sex is for the bedroom’ _ line again. Do you know how much I’ve wanted to rip your fucking shirt and tie off and swallow your load on the kitchen floor before you head off to work? Or when you come home with your hair all tousled because you’ve had a rough day and you’ve been running your fingers through it… all I can think about is fucking the stress right out of you. Filling you up until you can barely remember your own name.” Richie’s voice lowered as he went on. Stan felt his grinds become more desperate and Stan had to force his hips to not roll back with as much force as he wanted. Richie knew Stan was gone. There was no way Stan was going back to sleep when all he could think about was the hard heat grinding against his ass. 

Soon the hand that was entertaining his nipple began tracing downwards. Past his ribcage, over his stomach, then it hit the waistband of his pajamas. Stan wasn’t wearing underwear - he never wore underwear to bed. Stan breathed heavy, laden pants into the air in anticipation as Richie traced the elastic of his pants from hip to hip, maybe inching his finger under for half an inch before bringing it right back out, all the while panting hotly against the wetness of Stan’s neck. 

“Rich, please,” Stan said, weakly, all but wrecked. Soon to be in more ways than one.    
  
Richie let out a breathy laugh on his neck, “You want me to touch you? Want me to make you feel good?” 

Stan let out a little  _ ‘uh-huh’  _ and Richie responded by biting sharply into his neck, Stan let out a sharp cry. “That hurt!” 

“Use your words, babe. You know I like it when you talk to me, especially when you’re all high-strung like this.” 

Stan canted his hips back harshly onto his boyfriend’s member and scowled at him, “I’m high-strung? You’re the one who started by grinding against me like a horny teenager.” Stan had more to say, but he was cut off when Richie suddenly surged his hand under the little expanse of elastic and got a tight hold on his cock. Just enough to hurt. Stan let out a broken gasp followed by a sharp his and tugged at Richie’s hair. Richie just planted a soft kiss on his cheek, which contrasted the warning squeeze he gave around his shaft. 

  
“I’ll put you over my  _ knee, _ Uris.”

“If you’re gonna fuck me just do it already.” And with that, Richie slowly began jerking Stan off, slow but firm - enough to make Stan stutter and let out a heavy breath, throwing his head back against the pillow. Richie took this opportunity to kiss the expanse of Stan’s neck, not minding the way Stan’s stubble scratched at his mouth and burned. It didn’t stop him clamping down and sucking where Stan’s neck met his shoulders. Stan let out a cry at this and thumped Richie in the chest when Richie started to bite down on it, securing the bruise. 

“You -  _ ah! -  _ You know I don’t like bruises, you dick.” 

“Sorry,” He did sound somewhat apologetic and pressed a soft kiss to the bruising skin, “I can make it up to you.” 

Stan made a noise to tell Richie to continue as Richie quickened the speed of his hand. Stan’s face began to sheen with sweat and he could feel his pajamas start to stick to his body.

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to suck your dick and maybe if you’re good you can fuck my mouth a little. I’m going to fuck you on my fingers while I do it and I’m not gonna stop if you come. You can come as many times as you want but we’re not done until I blow my load inside your hole, got it?”

Stan couldn’t help the moan that rippled out of his body. Stan wasn’t normally overly vocal in bed, and Richie usually spent night after night trying to get Stan to moan or cry out in pleasure at least once, but Stan hadn’t realized how pent up he was. How much he needed release. It hit him like a train and every touch was like fire and ice dancing over his nerves.

Richie didn’t need to be told to help Stan out of his clothes. He pulled his shirt open and Stan quite frankly, couldn’t care less how many buttons he ripped off. Richie licked and sucked at Stan’s collarbones as he hooked his fingers around his pants and pulled them down. Stan blew out a breath of relief at the cold air hitting him. It wasn’t cold for very long. Richie moved down Stan’s body, licking and sucking and biting and mouthing all the way down. Stan was like a drug and Richie needed his fix.

“Fuck… Richie,” Stan could barely muffle his groans into his pillow as Richie swallowed him in his mouth. Richie rarely gave head, not for any reason other than when Richie gave you a blowjob - oh, boy were you getting a blow job. He was intense, sloppy and wicked with his mouth and once Richie brings his lips to wrap around his boyfriend’s cock, it’s like a flip gets switched in his brain and he starves for it. He starves for Stan’s cries and gasps and Stan begging him to  _ ‘just fuck me already’ _ , but Stan knows all to well that if Richie’s giving him a blowjob, he’s finishing in Richie’s mouth no matter what. If he wants to get fucked, Richie will overstimulate him on purpose, massaging his prostate with a single lubed finger through his orgasm and then some. 

Stan let out breathy gasps and grappled at the pillow at his head. Richie was  _ wicked. _ His tongue was laying flat at the bottom of his mouth, then tensing around his head, circling his slit and Stan swore he got light-headed when he watched a bead of pre-come spread over Richie’s bottom lip only for him to swipe it with his finger and take it into his mouth. S

Stan was lying flat on his back with his legs spread and knees pointing to the ceiling. It was almost obscene how open he was laying for Richie, how willing he was to spread himself wide open for Richie to have his way with him but when Richie took his finger out of his mouth and traced it around his rim, he found himself not caring. 

Richie took Stan back into his mouth and bobbed happily, humming to himself on the updraft. Stan could feel his hole twitching every time Richie circled it. He would put the tiniest bit of pressure, just enough for Stan to grapple at the sheets and his breath to stutter in his throat but not enough to breach. Richie bobbed shallowly, an almost languid pace and Stan was near in tears.

Richie was playing with him. Like a cat with a mouse. “Please, Rich. Please - God - just do  _ something _ .”

Richie made innocent eyes and raised his eyebrows in question.  _ Whatever could you mean? _ And pressed his finger against Stan’s hole. Stan shuttered out a broken gasp when it pushed past his rim. It was only the tip. No more and no less, but it was enough to make Stan’s mouth run a million miles a minute. 

“Fuck, Richie. Please. Please, I need it.” 

“You want me to fuck your hole, babe?” Richie popped off Stan’s dick and jerked him a little as he spoke.

Stan let out a keening moan and arched into Richie’s hand as he began to stroke faster, “Uh-huh.”

Stan gripped at Richie’s shoulders and tried his best to grind down onto Richie’s finger. Richie pulled his finger out the moment Stan had canted his hips back and Stan let out a desperate huff at that. “This isn’t a game of Charades. Use your words.” 

Stan grit his teeth and glared at Richie, who looked just like the cat who got the cream, big shit-eating grin and all. Richie knew he had Stan in the palm of his hand. “Richie.”

“Hmm?” 

Stan grit his teeth and Richie’s eyes glinted like the Devil’s. Clearly picking up on a challenge. With that he took a steeled breath and lowered himself onto Stan’s dick, staring him down as he went. He sunk deeper. And deeper. And deeper. And  _ Holy Fuck! _

Stan let out a high pitched whine as he felt his cock slip through the back of Richie’s throat. Richie forced himself to suppress the gags around Stan’s length and even as his eyes began to water he stared Stan down, pupils so blown with lust they appeared almost black.

That was it. That was it. Stan couldn’t take it anymore

. 

“Fuck, please Rich, please just fuck me. Please. You’ve had your fun but I swear if you’re not in me in the next five minutes I’m going to rip your cock off and sort myself out.” Stan let out a choked cry as Richie pulled off, coughing. It took him a minute to right himself but he didn’t lose his stepping as he went back to dragging his tongue down the underside of Stan, keeping eye contact. It was the hottest thing Stan had ever fucking seen in his life.

“You wanna fuck my mouth?” Richie asked, mouthing the words over Stan’s cock, “I want you to come in my mouth, babe. Want you to use my mouth to get yourself off. Fuck into my throat and bruise it. Want all my listeners to hear how raspy my voice is tomorrow… and I’ll just say I've got a cold but they won’t know the truth. It’s because you fucked my face that hard that my throat gave out”    
  
“Want you to come in my mouth. Then you know what I’m gonna do, babe?” 

“ _ Oh God, Richie _ \- don’t fucking stop…” Richie licked another firm stripe up the underside of his cock, “Wh-what?” 

“I’m gonna spit it all back into your hole and finger you open with your own come.” 

Stan was near winded at that and let out a whimper. He was going to die tonight. Richie was going to kill him. Richie just laughed and spread Stan’s legs wider, taking his hands from the sheets and directing them into his hair. He gave Stan a nod and lowered himself onto his cock.

Stan guided Richie’s head up and down slowly, languishing on the feel of Richie’s warm mouth on him but Richie just rolled his eyes and slapped the inside of his thigh. Stan swallowed thickly and pressed harder and a little faster but only received another impatient slap for his efforts. Stan kept pushing Richie up and down on his cock until he suddenly felt a finger at his hole and not a moment later Richie had breached his hole. Stan let out a cry and moved away from the finger and subsequently, down Richie’s throat. As he pulled back, feeling guilty for being so rough, Richie just moaned and his eyes flickered into the back of his head.

_ Oh. _

  
_ OH. _

Stan took a shaky breath and repeated the action, holding Richie’s head still and fucking up into his mouth. Richie huffed out through his nose and let out a pleasant sound. Like the sound you make eating a nice meal after being hungry all day. Stan blew out groan of his own when Richie only wiggled his finger further into him, it burned a little but Stan wasn’t one to shy away from feeling stretched and he cried out as he fucked forward and his cock was encased in the wet heat of Richie’s throat and then back onto Richie’s long finger. 

Stan fucked harder and faster until Richie had tears in his eyes and his face grew red. Richie knew that Stan was close, that he was about to blow. His thighs started quivering and his moans fell into heavy, fast pants and his hands tightened almost painfully in his hair.

“ _ Fuck,  _ Richie I’m - God you’re so fucking good - I’m gonna come.” 

Richie lifted off suddenly, slapping Stan’s hands away from his head with his free hand and he heaved a couple of heavy breaths before saying, “Jerk off onto my tongue,” And Stan did, it only took half a dozen strokes until his back arched, falling himself back onto Richie’s finger - which continued to pump in and out of him, slowly and deeply. Richie quickly took Stan into the shallow of his mouth, groaning when he tasted Stan’s release on his tongue. 

He didn’t even give Stan, who was lying sweaty with glazed-over eyes and a lax mouth, time to recover as he flipped him over and removed his finger. Stan propped himself up on his knees and clasped his hands together like in prayer. 

Richie gave Stan’s ass a hearty smack, causing him to cry out in surprise. Richie rubbed where he had just smacked and sunk his fingers into his mouth, drawing through the puddle of cum he had collected. Stan could hear Richie making keening sounds and turned around to that image, of Richie all but finger-fucking his own mouth with a mouthful of Stan’s cum. When Richie removed his fingers they glistened and dripped with Stan’s release. Stan’s arms lost the ability to hold himself up and his upper half fell to the mattress. 

Richie didn’t let Stan have a moment to adjust and slid two fingers inside of him without warning. Stan arched away and cried out into the mattress, body shaking. It hurt and he could feel the burn of his hole being stretched and it felt so fucking  _ good. _

“God, Richie please -  _ fuck _ \- please don’t stop.”

“Want me to fuck you, baby boy? Want me to make a mess of you?” Richie asked, breathless himself but fucking into Stan deep with his fingers. Stan let out a breathless laugh.

“I think you’ve already muh-made a mess of me, Rich.” Stan said, barely being able to get his words out much at all.

“Aw, babe…” Richie cooned, leaning over Stan to plant soft kisses down his back. He scissored his fingers inside Stan, stretching his hole. Stan whimpered as Richie got a little rougher and his head began to spin, “You have no fucking idea what I’m gonna do to you.” And with that, Richie slammed a third finger into him and began a quick pace with his fingers, the third finger had nailed Stan right in the prostate and his eyes rolled back into his head as he let out a hoarse cry.

“Fuck, Daddy, yes just like that, please.” 

Richie’s movements stilled for a moment and Stan could have let the ground eat him alive. Richie and Stan were fairly open with their kinks but this one was Stan’s dirty secret. He was so embarrassed of it that he hadn’t dared ever bring it up with Richie and yet, he had spluttered it out mid-sex like it was nothing. Just as Stan was about to open his mouth and apologize, Richie let out the lowest moan he had heard from him in a long time. 

“Fuck. Stan. You’re so fucking hot - where the  _ hell _ were you hiding that?” 

“I uh-”

“I’m about to cream my pants here -  _ fuck. _ Stan, baby,” Richie began his thrusting again, hard and fast and making obscene noises which only made Stan groan more with the sheer  _ dirtiness _ of it all, “You want me to fuck your hole?”

Richie’s fingers repeatedly hit the spot inside Stan and he ground his hips forwards into the mattress, chasing friction for a second orgasm of the night.   
  
“No. I want you to fucking ruin me, Richie. I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow. I wanna feel you in me for the next week, Daddy.” Well, Richie certainly didn’t have to be told twice. With that, removed his fingers and tore open a condom and didn’t even spare a moment to take his boxers off, he just pulled them down enough for him to free his now  _ painfully _ hard erection. In the blink of an eye, Richie plunged himself inside of Stan. Stan was always so tight, especially on nights like this, when he wanted it to hurt a little, he wanted to feel the burn of his hole stretching to take Richie in. And he did. Stan let out a broken shout into his forearm as Richie pushed half of his cock into him at once. His eyes begin to water and his heavy panting turns watery as he feels his body adjust to the size of his boyfriend. It hurt, and it hurt  _ so fucking good. _

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck - you’re so big, I always forget how big you are holy  _ shit.”  _

Richie couldn’t even find it within himself to make a joke as Stan’s hole clamped around him, all but sucking him in. It was an insane amount of pressure and Stan crying out and making broken beautiful little sounds below him only served to make it a lot more difficult not to just grab his boyfriend by the hips and fuck him into unconsciousness. Richie steadied his breathing and rubbed circles on Stan’s lower back, half out of comfort and a half to stop himself chasing more of the tight heat.

After a minute or two, Stan felt himself relaxing a little, relaxing enough to want more, “Faster, please. More - God please I’m ready just move.” 

Richie let out a breath of relief and inched forward slowly, only to be interrupted by a frustrated groan, “I thought you were gonna  _ ruin me. _ I thought you were gonna  _ wreck  _ me. You wake me up at three-fucking-A.M for this? This isn’t a  _ Nicholas Sparks _ novel. So fuck me like you promised or I’m gonna go and find someone who can pound me into the mattress better than you can.” 

Richie all but growled and tugged Stan by his hair until he was sitting upright on his knees, Stan let out a yelp of pain at the sharp tug, “You’re going to get fucked, you greedy little slut. Stop being such a brat or I  _ will _ take you over my knee.” 

Stan’s eyelids fluttered and a smile crept onto his face, “Promise, Daddy?” 

And with that Richie pushed him back onto the mattress, holding him down by the back of the neck in one hand and the other on his waist, and thrust fully into him. Stan let out a warbled cry, muffled by the mattress. He was so full. He was more full than he’d ever been in his life and Richie set an immediate brutal pace, fucking into him like and animal so hard that Stan could feel the slap of Richie’s hipbones colliding painfully into him. Stan was helpless but to grapple onto the sheets to stop himself from getting fucked up the bed. 

“Fuck  _ yes.  _ Don’t stop - ah!” Stan cried as Richie grabbed his hips and lifted them a little, making Richie attack his prostate head-on. Stan’s cries turned into a garbled mess of moans and cries and utter nonsense. His eyes were bleeding with tears, not that Stan was anywhere near coherent enough to notice. “Mmmh! Yes! Oh my God, yes! Fuck, Daddy - fuck me harder, harder please -  _ oh oh fuck-”  _

The headboard was slamming against the wall so hard that it was leaving marks on the white paint and no doubt the neighbors would be filing a complaint in the morning.

“Is it good? Am I making you feel good, Stanley?” 

“YES! So good, so good Daddy it’s so good. I can feel you all inside me I want you to fill me up.” 

Richie sucked in a breath at that, “You want Daddy to fill you up nice ‘nd full?” 

“Ah-ah-ah yes! Yes, fucking do it. Come inside me.” 

Richie panted as his thrusts sped up, punching little  _ oh-oh-oh’s  _ from Stan as he did so, he was so close. He was so close he was right on the verge when - 

“Fuck, I love you so much.” 

And with that broken pant from Stan, so quiet and so mumbled that Richie doubted he was even meant to hear it - Richie felt the release wash over him and he stuttered a good half a dozen heavy thrusts into Stan as he panted out his release and all but collapsed on top of Stan, who didn’t seem to be fairing much better.

After a moment of catch-ups with his breath, Richie gently pulled out of Stan and tied off the condom, “Hey, you doin’ alright over there?” 

Stan didn’t move. Richie rolled him over, expecting him to be ruddy-faced and begging for Richie to jerk him off but he turned Stan over to a mess on the bedsheets and Stan’s fucked-out face. 

“When the fuck did  _ you _ come?”   
  
“Like five minutes ago, I think.”

“You  _ think?” _ Richie began to clean Stan up - who didn’t seem like he would have the mental capacity to remember how to move his body if he tried.

“I’m not sure, it felt so good, Rich. It felt _so _fucking good.” Richie wiped up the cum off of Stan and managed to take the sheet off of the bed without having to maneuver Stan all that much, as difficult as it was.

“Hey!” Richie said, looking a little upset. Upset? Is he upset about the sheets?

“What?” 

“Watch your language or else Daddy’s gonna put you on the naughty step.” 

Stan groaned and turned over to sleep, Richie falling in behind him not a moment later, “Beep-beep, Richie.”

“I definitely beep-beeped your ass.”

“I’m gonna beep-beep you upside the head if you don’t let me go to sleep.”

The next morning, Stan woke up in a panic, sleeping in late for his alarm, only for Richie to greet him with a cup of coffee with a cheery kiss and with a  _ doting _ reminder that it was Saturday just as Stan all but jumped out of bed to get dressed, only for his legs to fall out straight from under him. Stan swore at Richie for it and Richie pretended not to be as big-headed about it as he was. 

**Author's Note:**

> oppa gangnum style


End file.
